


Warranted Reprisals

by Strings (fangirlgeekout)



Series: Wordless Interruptions [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fluff, Castiel in the Bunker, Handcuffs, Human Castiel, M/M, Post-Season/Series 08, TWP - Tickles Without Plot, Tickling, Ticklish Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 19:33:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2400275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlgeekout/pseuds/Strings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas doles out a little well-deserved retribution after Wordless Interruptions and Written Reminders.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>
  <i>The hunter’s eyes popped open. “Cas?”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"Yes?" Cas purred again.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"…Did you just cuff me?"</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"Maybe."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warranted Reprisals

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted Feb 2014 on [Tumblr](http://wordstrings.tumblr.com/post/77166404394/warranted-reprisals-wordless-interruptions-iii).

It was exceptionally quiet in the bunker, and Castiel was sitting in his usual reading spot on the library couch. There were no conversations floating in the air, no reverberations of heavy guitar riffs from the boombox Dean had squirreled away in his room; only the occasional whisk of a page turn in the otherwise silent space.

Cas came to the end of a chapter, then, without looking, reached over the back of the couch and flicked.

“ _Ow_!”

He smirked to himself and flipped another page. “You were trying to sneak up on me again.”

"No, I wasn’t!" A chagrined Dean rose from where he’d been skulking behind the couch and rubbed at his ear.

"Mm-hmm."

The hunter glared petulantly for a moment. “You’ve been reading all morning.”

Cas finally turned to look up at him. “You’ve been  _interrupting me_  all morning, and you’re not going to like where it leads if you continue.”

"Promise?" Dean grinned. He ducked to dodge the book that came swinging at him and laughed. "Alright, fine, keep on being a crotchety old man."

"I’m not ‘crotchety.’"

"Sure you’re not."

A distant voice called out from a couple rooms away. “Is anybody going to help me with these groceries? Especially considering I’m not the one who scarfs most of them?”

"It appears Sam’s supply run was successful." Castiel marked his page and stood to stretch, then realized that Dean had already made himself scarce. He rolled his eyes and made his way to the kitchen alone to help Sam restock the cabinets.

—-

Dean was running, tripping, trying to get to… somewhere important. He couldn’t remember, couldn’t think straight. He just needed to  _get there_. Roots and vines kept springing up from the ground, catching around his ankles and making him stumble. He fell forward; something heavy pushed down on his back.

"Hello," Castiel purred in his ear.

Dean snorted into his pillow.  _Bed. Bedroom. Cas._ Oh.

"Mmm." He inhaled slowly and turned his head to blink up at the ex-angel kneeling over him. "Hello, yourself."

"You fell asleep while shirking your grocery duties."

There was a twinge of mischief in Cas’ expression. Dean flashed a sleepy little smile in response. “Looks like I did. What’re you gonna do about it?”

"Hmmmm." Castiel placed his hands on Dean’s biceps and canted forward, sliding his palms up along the toned arms under the pillow and coming to rest at Dean’s wrists. He nosed at the hunter’s ear. "Why don’t you just relax and let me worry about that?"

Dean hummed and allowed his eyes to slide closed again. “Mm, sounds like a good plan… you always have the best plans…”

"Tactician," Cas reminded him softly. He wove his fingers down between Dean’s and gently pulled his hands out from under the pillow, then-

_Yank. Click, click._

The hunter’s eyes popped open. “Cas?”

"Yes?" Cas purred again.

"…Did you just cuff me?"

"Maybe."

Dean tugged on his arms and heard a metallic clink. There was no  _maybe_  about it - his wrists were definitely handcuffed at the small of his back. And… and his ankles were tied together, though he couldn’t tell with what.  _When did that happen?_

He huffed a short laugh, partially muffled by the pillow. “Not that I’m complaining or anything, but maybe warn me next time?”

Castiel’s voice was low and close. “The element of surprise has its uses.”

Dean suppressed a pleasant shiver at the breath ghosting over his nape, and he felt Cas’ weight sink back to rest across his hips.

Then fingertips alighted at his waist, accompanied by a murmur of, “So does the element of anticipation.”

Dean’s mind blanked out for an instant as he stiffened. Then he was running through a series of mental checklists, taking stock of his situation, assessing his vulnerabilities. Force of habit, really - there was no real danger here, but his heart rate was kicking up all the same.

Tense seconds ticked by until he realized that he was holding his breath, and he mentally berated himself for playing right into the game.  _Breathe, idiot._  He licked at his lips, forced himself to relax, and experimentally rolled his wrists in the cuffs. It was unlikely he could barter his way out, but it was practically expected for him to at least try.

"Is this about the groceries? Because I’ll make you an awesome dinner. You know I’m good for it."

Cas hummed. “Yes, you  _will_  make me an ‘awesome’ dinner. But no, this is not about the groceries.”

Dean waited for clarification. None came. He took another purposeful breath to ask, and Cas chose that moment to drum his fingers, just once. A hitch caught in his throat, and Dean chased it away with another little huff. He was clearly boned no matter what he said at this point, and pushing back was half the fun, so… “Okay, what  _is_  it about, Mr. Allergic to Straight Answers?”

"Care to guess? And watch your attitude."

"Not really. And you’re not the boss of me."

"Right now, I believe I  _am_.” Cas slipped his hands under the hem of the hunter’s t-shirt and spidered gently, eliciting a surprised squirm and a pillow-dampened chuckle. “Why not guess?”

"Because I have the right to remain silent." Dean smirked and tilted his head up to rest his chin on the pillow. "And I’d rather not incriminate myself for anything you’re better off believing was an accident."

Castiel’s face appeared at the corner of his peripheral vision. “My coffee yesterday morning?” the former angel growled.

Dean bit his lip to keep from smiling, even though he knew remaining mute was just as clear an admission. Two sharp squeezes at his sides had him fending off a yelp.

"The disappearance of the T. S. Eliot book I wasn’t finished with? How individual socks go missing every time I do laundry?" Blunt fingernails skittered up Dean’s ribs.

"Hehehey, the socks thing -  _ah_! - that’s not me, I swear! It ha-happens to everybody!” The handcuffs jerked taut when Castiel’s fingers darted down and pinched at his hipbones against the mattress. Dean would deny to his grave that he squealed like a toddler into the pillow.

Cas pulled back. “Regardless, that’s not what this is about.” He took hold of the short chain between the cuffs and ran two fingers down Dean’s forearm. “I would apologize for the harsh nature of the restraint, except for two things: you’re tough enough to handle it,” - he poked the hunter’s side, causing a decidedly not-tough flinch - “so I’m not really sorry; and, even if I were, the point of this exercise is  _your_  regret, not mine.”

"And again,  _what_  am I supposed to be regretting?”

"Two days ago. Your flagrant incursion on my feet."

Dean nodded slowly, as though pulling up an old memory. “Ohhh, right, that.” He turned to grin cheekily up at the wry blue eyes that scrutinized him. “Yeah, I don’t regret that at all.”

Cas sighed sympathetically. “That’s what I was afraid of.” He pulled up on the handcuffs, lifting Dean’s arms away from his back so he could push the hunter’s shirt up unimpeded. “Here’s how this is going to work: I’m going to tickle you.”

Once again, Dean was left hanging for the completion of a thought. “…And?” He tried to twist around, but a hand pressed down between his shoulders to stop him.

"And that’s it. Feel free to express the magnitude of your remorse once I’m done." Then Castiel’s nimble fingers were everywhere at once, scurrying across his sides, ribs, back.

Dean jolted, twitching and snorting as he held in his laughter. Quick, agile fingertips tweaked along the muscle up his back and fluttered down the soft flesh of his sides. He grinned and swore and wrenched his captive arms every which way he could, grabbing blindly, trying to catch Cas’ hands, but all he earned from it was a playful swat and renewed spidering around his waist.

“ _Aagh_ , shihihihit!” Dean squirmed and fell into uncontrollable giggling. “Dahahahammit, Ca-haaas!” He buried his face in the pillow to muffle his laughter, but then Castiel was even taking that luxury away, tugging it out from under him and tossing it off the bed. Dean whined in protest through his giggles. “Nooohohooo…”

"You don’t get to hide anything, Dean, not after what you did to me," Cas chided, and Dean could hear the grin in his voice, the smug bastard. The ex-angel leaned in, his voice dropping low. "I want you totally exposed so I can see every - little - smile -" Cas dug his fingers between a different set of ribs with each word - "and hear every one of your wonderfully endearing giggles -" clawed fingers curled up under the edges of his stomach - "and you can’t stop any of it."

Those “endearing giggles” were nothing but embarrassing as far as Dean was concerned. He squealed helplessly as Cas tickled up and down his sides, relentless, following every twist of his arching spine.

"HahahahahahaHA! I  _hahahate youhohohoou_!”

"No, you don’t."

“ _Yes I d_ -AH!” Cas had grabbed the cuffs again and was carefully pushing his wrists up his back, forcing his elbows out in order to get at his armpits. “PleheeheeHEEASE NO-” He squeaked out laughter, jerking away from the teasing fingers that dipped into his shirt sleeves. Cas lingered there for a moment, alternating between scritching nails and digging fingers, gripping his thighs tightly around Dean’s writhing hips to keep them both in place.

"You know, Dean, I’ve wondered something for a while now," Castiel started conversationally, scribbling across the back of Dean’s neck, making him hunch. "How is it ever determined that one person is more ticklish than another? There are too many variables. Method, speed, pressure," he spidered his hands in mirrored patterns down the hunter’s back, dodging around the twitching handcuffs, "varying areas of sensitivity, how familiar the one doing the tickling is with the one being tickled…" Cas shrugged and worked his fingers under Dean’s hips, wriggling little circles into the bones. "I just don’t see how you’d collect enough unbiased information to make that decision."

Dean cackled, kicking and bucking anew. “Youhohou suhuhuhuhuck!”

"I hardly think that’s a fair assessment. Judging by your reactions – which, by the way, are adorable; have I told you that you’re adorable lately, Dean? – I’m actually very good at this." Cas bent down and nuzzled into him, nipping at the side of his neck, drawing out a higher pitch in the panicked laughter his fingers were already digging out. "Do you disagree?"

Dean was barely more than a squirming hysterical mess. “ _Plehehehease_ ,” he wheezed, “I’m sorry, okahahay, I’m  _sohohohohorry_!”

"Good. But I’m not finished."

Castiel abruptly got up, and Dean lost track of him for a moment until he felt the weight settle back down on his calves. Dean tried to twist around while catching his breath, feeling exceptionally awkward without the use of his arms for leverage, but he managed to shuffle up on one shoulder to where he could see down his body. Castiel was sitting across his lower legs, blocking any further view. He felt a finger hook under the cuff of his sock.

"Come on, Cas," he pleaded with a leftover giggle. His sock was slowly being pulled off, chased by a dragging fingertip. "Dohohon’t, please…"

Cas actually chuckled at that. “Why?” he asked honestly. “You can’t possibly make one of your groundless arguments about this ‘not being fair.’”

Dean curled on himself, as much as he could with his legs pinned flat. “You’re mehehean,” he whined.

"No,  _you_  were mean,” Cas countered. He looked over his shoulder and visibly had to stifle a laugh at Dean’s contorted position. “You tricked me into thinking I had to be quiet, you defaced a part of my body, and you practically tortured me under the guise of  _duty_.” He reached back and skittered a hand over the back of the hunter’s thigh, grinning at the way Dean snorted into the mattress. “You deserve every bit of this.”

The hunter’s weak noise of protest was quickly swallowed up by a fresh burst of giggling when Cas tickled down his instep. Between the ties around his ankles and Castiel’s weight on his calves, he could barely manage to shift enough to cover one foot with the other. Not like it mattered much, though, since Cas was already stripping the sock off that one, too, and wriggling all his fingers into the base of Dean’s toes.

“ _NO_ hohohohoho!” He squeezed his eyes shut against the sensations, scrunching his soles and digging his nails into his palms.

“ _Yes_ , actually. Oh, and I brought something for you.” Castiel paused to dig in his pocket before looking back again, holding up a pen and twirling it exaggeratedly in a motion Dean recognized as a mockery of his own toothbrush taunt. “I wanted to give you the same type of thoughtful gift you gave me. Reciprocation is, after all, an important aspect of any worthwhile relationship.”

Dean dropped his forehead to the bed. “You’re such an ass,” he chuckled into the comforter.

"What would be the appropriate sentiment, you think?" Cas mused, disregarding him. "‘ _My name is Dean Winchester and I’m too ticklish for my own good_ ’? That might be too long. There’s only so much room here…” Fingers tapped thoughtfully along Dean’s soles. “Let’s see.  _My name_ …”

Dean twitched and fell into giggling again at the sharp trace of a fingernail over the ball of his foot as Castiel practiced the letters before committing them to ink.

"… _is Dean Winchest_ \- oh, that’s not going to fit there. Maybe here -  _Wiiinchhhessssss_ \- no, not there either.  _Wwwinchessster_ , there we go.  _And I’m_ -“

"And I’m gonna  _murder_  youhohou!” Every stroke and scrape was like an electric shock through his sole; he couldn’t stop his flinching or the slight jump in his laughter at each new group of letters.

"You’ll do no such thing. Please be realistic, Dean.  _And I’m too ticklish… for my ownnn_ … hm. Yes, too long. How about ‘ _I should know better than to provoke someone who has lived eons longer than I have_ ’?”

Castiel started tracing it out, only to eventually reject it and try several other options that included unnecessarily long phrases like “ _needlessly belligerent_ " and " _ill-advised decisions_ " and " _gratuitous recklessness_.” He sketched them quickly and meticulously, switching back and forth between his nails and the capped pen whenever it suited him.

Dean was going to die. He was absolutely sure of it. Cas was going to kill him, in his own bedroom, tickled to death. He spasmed and cackled, the pointed sensations almost too intense to handle. His feet felt raw, overloaded; if he survived this, he was never making Cas a burger again, no matter how sad his big blue eyes got.

Castiel, meanwhile, was diagramming and tracing, muttering to himself about etymology and connotation, and generally ignoring the increasingly desperate laughter behind his back. Dean was frantically gasping for breath by the time Cas stated, “No, wait - I have the perfect thing. Three words. It should fit perfectly.” The pen cap was flicked off with a pop, and Cas started etching a fresh path, drawing precise letters down the center of his arches while Dean screeched.

Cas finished off with a flourish and was hovering back over Dean’s torso before the hunter even registered that he’d moved. “ _Now_  I’m ready for your apology.”

Thoroughly red-faced and panting heavily, Dean considered throwing back one more verbal jab, but when Castiel bent low and predatory over him, arms bracketing him in, he deflated.

"I’m sorry," he puffed into the comforter. "I’m  _sorry_ , I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

Cas sat back with a satisfied smile. “As well you should be.”

Dean took a few more asthmatic breaths. “Yeah, well, you’re still an ass,” he grumbled harmlessly. “Now let me go.”

"Your manners still leave much to be desired. But I suppose that’s a battle for another day," Cas sighed.

Two quick cranks at Dean’s wrists extricated him. He flopped onto his back, rolling his shoulders and stretching out his elbows, while Castiel moved down to free his ankles.

"So what is it?"

"Hm?"

"What the hell did you write on me?"

Cas fought back a grin. “Nothing important.”

Dean grunted and sat up, eying him dubiously. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and pulled one ankle up on his knee to look. Then he switched legs. Then he dropped both feet back on the floor, and turned to level his gaze at the fallen angel still kneeling on the bed, who looked singularly pleased with himself.

"You’re brave."

"If you want to call it that."

"You’re very, very brave."

Cas cocked his head. “Don’t you have a dinner to go make?”

“ _You_ -“

Cas was through the door and dashing down the hallway by the time Dean rounded the corner of the bed, feet imprinted with  _Property of Castiel_  pounding after him.


End file.
